


Victory

by bluemermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blood, Depression, F/F, Fucked Up, Incest, Just generally this is a dark dark fic, Murder, Necrophilia, Obsession, Rape/Non-con Elements, Read at Your Own Risk, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:31:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3486605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemermaid/pseuds/bluemermaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows just how much Dominique adores her sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victory

In every family photograph in Shell Cottage, Dominique Weasley is touching her older sister. When looking at the early snapshots, it's obvious: two-year-old Dominique tugging on Victoire's ankles, five-year-old Dominique tackling Victoire from behind, eight-year-old Dominique wrapping her arms around her sister's waist for a hug. As she gets older, however, Dominique's contact seems to grow subtler; she takes to pressing her shoulder into Victoire's, sliding her fingers around Victoire's wrist. And in the final pictures, the ones taken just before the accident, fifteen-year-old Dominique seems oddly distanced from her sister; the casual observer would never notice how one hand is always pressed into the small of Victoire's back.

Still, everyone knows how Dominique just _adores_ her sister.

*****

Victoire stood very still before the mirror, frowning delicately as she took in her own image. Slowly, her eyes narrowed, she applied a thin layer of lip gloss, pursing her lips to evenly distribute the pink shine.

"Why do you wear that stuff?" Dominique asked, crinkling her forehead with disgust. "It's not pretty."

"Of course it's pretty," Victoire replied sharply, glaring at the reflection of her sibling. "Every girl wears makeup, Dominique; you might as well start getting used to it yourself. You're going to start wearing it soon enough."

"No," Dominique replied, just as sharply, and she rolled off the bed to stand just behind Victoire. "It's unnatural." She pushed in beside Victoire, shoulder to shoulder before the mirror, and placed her fingers on the cool glass, tracing the shape of Victoire's lips, where they would be if she were standing inside the mirror. "It's not you."

Victoire rolled her eyes and shoved Dominique away good-naturedly. "You are such a little weirdo," she said lightly, closing the stick of gloss and running a hand through her hair. "This is me, Domi; I've been this way forever. Now, go pester Louis, won't you? I'm trying to get ready."

"Where are you going?" Dominique asked, lingering in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, gripping so tightly her knuckles shone. "You didn't say you were going anywhere."

"I'm going to Teddy's," said Victoire, and her cheeks turned pink. "We're going for a picnic."

"A picnic." Dominique's voice was scathing. "How utterly boring. You and I could go flying instead."

"But I don't want to go flying," Victoire said, huffing with exasperation. "You're such a little kid; you don't understand feelings at all."

"I understand feelings," Dominique said. "I feel like you spend too much time with Teddy Lupin. Who's he, anyway? Just a troublemaker. Louis says he gets detention at school all the time."

"What does Louis know? He's never even met Teddy." 

"James told him," Dominique insisted. "He knows James."

Victoire smiled and put her hands on Dominique's shoulders. "You and I can go flying tomorrow; that's all right, isn't it? It's just I already said I'd go on the picnic today. And I like Teddy Lupin, and he's not just a troublemaker. He's nice to me." Victoire's cheeks were flushing again, or still, and it made Dominique sick to her stomach.

"Fine," she snapped, stepping away from Victoire's grasp. "Go out and play with Teddy. I don't care. I hope you stay there and never come back." Dominique turned around and stomped out into the hallway, closing Victoire's door behind her. She didn't care if her sister preferred Teddy to Dominique; she didn't care one bit.

She didn't eat a single bite of food for the rest of the day. "Come now, Dominique; you've got to eat something, or you'll be sick," her father scolded half-heartedly, but Dominique just pictured Victoire eating with Teddy and her stomach closed in on itself.

*****

It was obvious what Teddy saw in her: Victoire was beautiful, smart, funny, and strong. Dominique, in contrast, was small and silly and useless. Nobody could look at Dominique when Victoire was around. Not that Dominique wanted somebody like Teddy to notice her; she simply wondered what it would be like.

She sat, very still, in the far corner of her room, sandwiched tightly between the wall and her school trunk, the edges of which dug painfully into her skin. She didn't mind it, though; the pain was almost soothing, a tether to reality. In her mind, images of Victoire sauntered, Victoire and Teddy dancing and laughing and far away from Dominique. She was gone again, Victoire, for the second day in a row. She had promised to fly with Dominique, and instead she was gone again. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Domi, I completely forgot," Victoire had said, withering under Dominique's furious stare. "I already told Teddy I'd visit him again today. I promise, seriously this time, we'll do something tomorrow. All right?"

Dominique ran her fingers down the smoothness of her knife, the little silver blade used for cutting up potions ingredients. It would be very wrong to hurt somebody with it, of course; she wasn't crazy. Besides, what would cutting Teddy Lupin do? It would only upset Victoire, and Dominique could never do that. She could never hurt her Victoire. Still, the knife was there, in her hands, and she was angry.

Pretty Victoire, who had suddenly stopped caring about her little Dominique, her little Domi (nobody called Dominique by Domi, nobody but Victoire, and Dominique would have hexed anyone else who'd tried it). She couldn't blame Teddy for this; Teddy had simply been caught up in the wondrous perfection that was Victoire. It was completely understandable. Still, Dominique wondered what it was like. 

She supposed she'd always wondered in one way or another, what it was like to be Victoire. Even when they'd been closer, before Mum and the Gryffindors had ruined everything, Dominique had done far more than just love Victoire, far more than look up to the older girl. She had idolized her, copied her every move. And it still had never been enough. Dominique had never been enough. Now, again, it wasn't enough, for Victoire had gone to Teddy. Dominique had always been ugly and stupid, splotchy and invisible next to Victoire, and now even Victoire herself had realized it.

Dominique looked down at her ugly freckled arms and legs and cried out in desperation, for Victoire had always had perfect skin. Maybe if Dominique had perfect skin, too, Victoire would want to spend time with her again. Maybe Teddy had perfect skin. Teddy could change his hair color at will; he had to have perfect skin, too.

It wasn't really the freckles, and Dominique did know this in the back of her mind, but just then they seemed the symbol of all that was wrong with her, and so she only hesitated a moment before she slipped her little potions knife beneath her skin. It hurt, and she winced, but she did not stop, slicing a particularly large freckle off of her forearm. It bled, quite a bit more than she'd guessed it would, and Dominique sobbed once and placed her mouth over the wound, swallowing blood as she mentally berated herself for her stupidity. Of course she couldn't slice all her freckles off; she'd only scar herself more, and how could Victoire love her then? 

It wouldn't matter; she could never be like Victoire, no matter how much she wanted it, wanted Victoire. Dominique threw her knife into her trunk and slammed her head against the wall in despair and frustration. She hated her skin, she hated her feelings, and she hated her potions knife.

And then she got an idea.

 

*****

Victoire looked like a ghost in the moonlight, her skin cast in an eerie blue glow. Dominique crept silently into the room, eyes on her sister, one hand curled tightly around her wand in her pocket. You just never knew when trouble would strike.

The sheets were soft and warm; they smelled like Victoire. The bed creaked, once, as Dominique placed her weight upon it, and she froze, eyes wide, watching. Victoire did not stir.

Silky strands of silvery-blonde hair cascaded through Dominique's fingers like water; she pressed her face heavily into that bright curtain, just barely managing to stifle a moan of delight at the scent. She really did have to get her hands on Victoire's conditioner. Or her hair.

Dominique clipped carefully, a few little strands, nothing that anyone would ever notice. She briefly considered placing the hair in a vial, but threw this thought away as she savored the feel of the fragrant silk in her hands. This, finally, the culmination of many tortured weeks, weeks alone while Victoire pranced about with Teddy. Now she would finally know what it felt like; she would fill that aching hole inside of her, the one that screamed nonsense at her every time she tried to sleep. She would know. She just wanted to know.

***** 

"Hello, Teddy." She stuck one hip out, smirking, twirling her lovely hair around one finger as she stood in the doorway, watching him. "I'm so happy to see you." Ted Lupin stopped, raised an eyebrow, and leaned against the wall. He had that careless attitude that comes with being a troublemaker; it was as clear as the smile on his face. Dominique clenched her fists and tried not to vomit. 

"You all right, Vic? You look a little off."

"Vic?" The name threw her; she had never heard her Victoire called such a thing before. It was a man's name, Vic. She was Victoire, sometimes Vicky. She was not Vic.

Teddy laughed and threw his arms around her, pulled her to him for a proper snog. At first, Dominique stiffened and tried to get away, but then she remembered, and scolded herself: You're her now. You're Victoire. And so she kissed him back, placing her hands – Victoire's hands – upon his face. It was rough on her flawless skin, sandpapery. Stubble. Teddy Lupin had stubble, and Dominique was kissing a man.

"Feisty today," Ted commented, slipping one hand up the back of Victoire's blouse. "I love it when you're feisty."

Victoire was never feisty with Dominique, though she wasn't exactly sure how that would work, anyway. All she really knew was that the comment enraged her for reasons she couldn't explain, and so she shoved Teddy hard against the wall and pushed her tongue into his mouth, just to show that she could be feisty, too. She could be Victoire, too.

They fumbled with their clothes for a bit, kissing all the while, and then Teddy pushed her gently onto the bed and ran his hands reverently down her body, Victoire's soft, lovely body. Dominique closed her eyes and tensed, slightly, but she would not stop him, for she was Victoire, and Victoire just adored her precious Teddy. She wanted to say it aloud, just to see Ted's reaction; "I adore you, Teddy," but the very idea of such a phrase leaving Victoire's lips made her furious.

Teddy pushed himself onto and into her and it hurt terribly; she made a sort of mewling sound and he grunted and pushed harder. Dominique whimpered in Victoire's voice and suddenly she didn't feel very much like Victoire at all, she felt like Dominique, like clumsy little Dominique lying beneath her sister's boyfriend, and then her stomach rolled and she really was going to vomit after all because Teddy was big and sweaty and he was hurting her, he was hurting Victoire, and nobody was allowed to hurt Victoire.

"Ah, shit!" Teddy leapt backwards as Dominique raked her fingernails down his face, and the two of them slipped awkwardly off the bed and onto the floor. Teddy stood quickly, his hands pressed to his eyes, and Dominique in Victoire's body curled up against the bed and started to cry. "Shit, Victoire, what the hell was that?" He turned and studied himself in the mirror. "You cut deep, Vic, I don't even know if I can metamorph this shit. Merlin's balls, why'd you go and do that for?"

Dominique looked at him, a blur of colors through her tears. He leaned against the wall, the mirror, his forehead pressing into the glass, hands upon the frame. She watched him, and trembled, and pushed her thighs closer together, an attempt to block the residual damage, the pain. She wondered if it would still hurt when she was no longer Victoire. She wondered if she would ever not be Victoire.

"Vic?" Teddy turned to her, the scratches on his face less intimidating than they had been a moment ago. "Are you all right?" He knelt to her level, his eyes searching hers with some kind of poignant intensity. "I'm sorry, if I hurt you. I just . . . fuck, Victoire, I just love you. You know that, yeah?"

His hand was on her shoulder, and she stared at him, fearful, uncomprehending. He loved her. How could he possibly love her? "How long?" She choked out, her hands once again balled into fists; she had fingernail-shaped marks on her palms. She wondered if she could scar; if Teddy would share these scars, now, on his face.

He glanced down; she was still naked from the waist down, Victoire's pale, blemish-free legs curled up between them. "I don't know," he muttered, looking up again, though not quite meeting her eyes this time. "A while. Forever. I don't know."

"Love," said Dominique; the word tasted like vomit. Her arms were wrapped around her knees; as she watched, a scattering of freckles slowly faded into view, a stain spreading across her body, a disease making its way into her bloodstream. Victoire didn't have any freckles; Dominique knew this like she knew her own name. It wasn't Victoire.

"A strong word," said Teddy, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. "Nevertheless, truth. I love you, Victoire."

"No, you don't," she spat, and it was her voice, not Victoire's, not that sweet breathy lullaby she was so fond of. It was her own rough drawl, her own weedy limbs, her own scraggly hair with its strange mix of red and blonde. It was her, it was all her, and she glared at Teddy Lupin as he scurried away from her in horror. "You can't love Victoire," she continued, hurling each word like a dagger. "I love Victoire. She's mine! You don't love her; you couldn't. You don't even know her!"

"Dominique," he said, slowly, as though he had never heard the name before. "You, you're, you're her, aren't you? You're not Vic. And I – Merlin, Dom, what the fuck is this?" He was on his feet, eyes wide, inching away from her. "I was – we were – I fucked you! And you – you let me – "

"You don't know her," she whimpered, pressing her hands over her ears. "I know her, I love her, you can't love her. I just wanted to know what it was like!"

He was still talking, but she couldn't hear him, and she gasped as he shook her, grabbed hold of her shoulders and violently pulled her upward, dragged her to her feet and shook her. His mouth opened, and noises came out, and Dominique thought of the sleeping Victoire and the hairs in her pocket. No, that wasn't right; there weren't any hairs left. She would have to get more later that night. She no longer felt right in her own body; she needed Victoire's.

"You're sick," Teddy said, guiding her towards the door. "Go home, and we'll just . . . we'll deal with this later."

"I've been Victoire's sister my whole life," Dominique said as she regained control of herself, as she remembered how to walk on her own legs. "You don't know the first thing about her. She doesn't love you, you know. She told me. She told me she loves me best." She hadn't, really; not in words, at least, but sometimes you didn't need words to see the truth. To believe what you consider truth.

"Just, get out," said Teddy, like he was extremely tired. He shut the door firmly behind her.

*****

"You little bitch!" Victoire's hand came out, and Dominique felt a sharp sting across her cheek, an explosion at the side of her head. But Victoire couldn't possibly have hit her; Victoire would never hurt her sister. "How could you?" Victoire shouted, her eyes filling with tears, and Dominique slowly pressed her hand against her cheek. Victoire had slapped her.

"I just had to know," she tried to explain, crying herself. She wondered if their tears would taste the same, and before she could stop herself she was there, touching Victoire, forcing her lips against her Victoire's cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whimpered, tasting the wetness, curling her arms around Victoire's waist, her hands snaking up to clutch Victoire's shoulder blades. "I just had to know."

"Teddy was my boyfriend," Victoire said, stiff in her sister's grasp, her voice brittle. "I love him."

"No, no, no," said Dominique, burying her face in Victoire's neck, lips upon her collarbone. "It's me you love, isn't it? It's me you love."

"I have put up," said Victoire, coldly pushing Dominique away, disentangling herself from her sister's arms, "with your little weirdness, your oddities, your obsession with me. When you were young it was sweet; I was flattered. But now, this? You've crossed the line, Domi. You've gone over the edge."

Dominique stood, arms hanging limply by her sides, staring blankly as Victoire threw these words at her, words which meant nothing, could mean nothing. It wasn't weird to love her sister; there were no lines in love. "I just wanted to be closer to you," she said.

"You drank a vial of Polyjuice Potion and slept with my Teddy," Victoire said; it sounded so strange when she said it, like something that had happened to somebody else. "I think you've gotten too close." She made a strange choking sound.

"I'll never be too close!" She approached again, taking Victoire's hands in her own. "How could sisters ever be too close? You're so beautiful, Victoire. You're perfect; I love you."

"Ugh, just stop it," Victoire said, yanking her hands back. "Just stop talking, Domi, I can't stand it." She walked around her sister and stood out in the hallway, arms raised as though to keep Dominique at bay. "I'm asking Dad to move my room; I'll sleep up in the attic from now on. I'll tell them I need a change of scenery, to avoid odd questions. I'll do that for you, but no more. I need to get away from you, Dominique." Her face turned hateful. "And stay away from Teddy!" She slammed the door behind her.

Dominique shook her head and clenched her hands once again into fists. She felt as though Victoire had stabbed her in the throat and dragged the knife down the length of her body, flaying her for the entire world to laugh at. The world, which tilted and spun around her, and Dominique suddenly found herself lying on the floor, staring at the cracks in the ceiling through a haze of muddled tears. What was this place she had somehow stumbled into? She had always loved Victoire, wanted to be with her and like her and inside her. She wanted to be her, be Victoire. How had such a beautiful little want come to this? 

*****

Dad must have taught Victoire a new spell, because her door wouldn't open. Dominique said "Alohamora" five times before she gave up, leaning her head against the impenetrable wood forlornly. How could she ever properly apologize to Victoire if the older girl wouldn't even see her? She just had to get in; she just had to be with Victoire. This whole thing was Teddy's fault, for taking Victoire away, but Dominique remembered her sister's warning: "Stay away from Teddy!" The words haunted her. She wanted to punish Teddy, cast him from the world of Shell Cottage forever, but Victoire didn't want that at all. Surely, if Dominique obeyed this command, if she let Teddy be for Victoire's sake, then Victoire would have to forgive her. She'd have to, or Dominique would die.

The back door tended to squeak when opened, but Dominique cast a quick silencing spell and slipped outside unnoticed. It really was lovely, being pureblooded, blatantly breaking the rule against underage magic and hiding behind two magical adults. The Ministry could never be sure just who had used the magic, and so Dominique felt no qualms about breaking through locked doors or making potions in the middle of the night. It had to be done, for Victoire.

Despite the fact that she had never made the house Quidditch team, Dominique's parents had still given her a broomstick, so she could play with her siblings and cousins during break. Victoire had no interest in Quidditch, though she did like to fly across the countryside with Dominique once in a while. They hadn't flown together since Teddy had come around. Dominique gripped her broom so tight she almost thought it would break.

Hovering alongside the house, Dominique leaned over and pointed her wand at Victoire's window. "Alohamora," she whispered, and grinned as she watched the latch turn. Dad wouldn't think of locking the window; they didn't understand how desperate she was.

Inside, Victoire was sleeping, facing away from Dominique as she climbed through the window. Setting her broom against the wall, Dominique inched towards the bed and gently climbed in beside her sister. She had done this more times than anyone could count, sleeping beside Victoire after nightmares or insomnia or late-night parties with their cousins. It was the main reason Dominique hated Hogwarts and that stupid sorting hat; she could never sleep with Victoire at school.

Being in Hufflepuff wasn't all bad; her housemates were nice enough. But Victoire was a Gryffindor, and the distance had been putting strain on them for years. Dominique had had to learn to fall asleep on her own, with no soft Victoire beside her. And Victoire had gone off making new friends and meeting troublemakers like Ted Lupin. It was torture, and Dominique took no comfort from sharing a house with her brother Louis, because he was just a boy, and Dominique couldn't understand boys.

Victoire shifted slightly and grunted in her sleep; Dominique froze beside her, careful not to touch the flawless beauty that was her sister, for fear that she would wake. Dominique couldn't bear to wake her yet, not when she would probably kick Dominique out of her room. She was just so lovely. Dominique remembered being Victoire, the grace she'd felt, the sensuousness of being Victoire. But even though she could look like Victoire and talk like Victoire, she could still never be Victoire; she could still never have Victoire. Because that was what she really wanted all along, wasn't it? She wanted Victoire for her very own.

She remembered what it had felt like to kiss Teddy, the overwhelming nausea of so much maleness upon her. It couldn't be like that with Victoire, who was sweet and gentle and feminine. If only Dominique had realized this before drinking the Polyjuice, surely things would be different. Dominique pursed her lips and slowly reached out, gently caressing the side of Victoire's face. Her sister did not stir, which gave Dominique the courage to lean over and press her lips to Victoire's cheek.

She had kissed Victoire countless times before, in a sisterly way, yet somehow it was different now, now that Dominique's entire body hummed with want, that her core surged with heat. Victoire was so soft, and her familiar scent swept into Dominique's pores like a love potion. But she didn't need a potion to love Victoire.

Dominique kissed her way along Victoire's neck and collarbone, her hand sliding down the length of Victoire's body, coming to rest on the curve of Victoire's hip. Victoire moaned softly and shifted again, turning slightly towards Dominique, and Dominique grinned in the dark, feeling triumph at finally winning over her sister. Victoire would be hers, after all.

A loud bang on the door startled them; Dominique tumbled off the bed and hit the floor as Victoire shot up with a gasp. "Who's there? Domi?"

"It's Louis," came the responding shout from the stairs, and Dominique glared and wished she could perform nonverbal spells, so she could cast Louis away without alerting Victoire to her presence. Somehow she knew that Victoire wasn't ready to see her yet; soon, but not yet.

Victoire climbed out of bed and opened the door to her brother, who looked incredibly small and pale on the dimly lit landing. "May I come in?"

"Louis, it's past midnight," Victoire replied, trembling slightly; she glanced towards the window, and Dominique was glad she'd decided to close it. "Is this important?"

Louis paused, and glanced around, before answering. "I guess not," he said. "I was just wondering what's going on with you and Dominique."

Victoire huffed and ruffled her hair slightly in frustration. "I can't talk about Dominique right now. She's just been behaving strangely lately, is all. Can't we talk about this in the morning?"

Louis shrugged, overly serious as always. "I suppose so. I'm just worried about her."

"You're worried about her?" Victoire's voice was incredulous, and Dominique felt a painful stab in her chest, the very knife which had skinned her the day previous. "You should be worried about me, Louis. I'm the one in danger here."

"In danger? Of what?" He sounded truly baffled by the idea.

"We'll discuss it tomorrow, honestly," said Victoire, starting to close the door. "Just go to sleep."

Dominique waited until Victoire had climbed into bed before she moved, inching noiselessly towards the window. She rose, slowly, until she could watch Victoire. She was facing away from Dominique, her chest rising and falling evenly. Still, nobody could fall asleep that quickly, and Dominique waited patiently, enjoying the very sight of Victoire for as long as she could. Stupid Louis had ruined the mood, and Dominique did not dare climb back into bed with her sister. Still, she could watch, and she could always return some other night, to finish what she had started. When it seemed Victoire had fallen asleep once more, Dominique edged out the window and flew back to the ground; she would sleep easier knowing that she was on the path to victory -- to Victoire.

*****

There was hair in the bathtub.

Dominique froze with her toothbrush in her mouth, staring intently at the bottom of the drain, where several long, thin strands of silver lay tangled in the corners. There was only one person in the house with such perfect hair; Mum hadn't been around in a very long time. How long could you keep hair, before it went stale? Was there an expiration date on hair fragments? The tub simply begged her to find out. Besides, she still had all the ingredients sitting around; what else was she going to do with them? She wasn't likely to get into Victoire's bed again any time soon; not with Dad and Louis sniffing about. Dad had already been giving Dominique odd looks over meals; she wondered just what Victoire had told him.

Just once more, she promised herself, her mouth dripping toothpaste into the tub. Nobody would ever know this time.

*****

Victoire's body leaned into the mirror and kissed her reflection, pressing herself sensuously against the glass. She grinned, laughed, and ran her fingers through her hair, turning from side to side to look at herself from every possible angle. She really was beautiful, almost painfully so. It wasn't quite as perfect as actually being with the real Victoire, but it came so splendidly close. If Dominique had endless potion supplies and time, if she didn't have to be Dominique for others, who knew how long she could be Victoire?

Dominique sighed and sat on the edge of her bed, playing idly with the edge of her skirt. She had a whole hour of Victoire before her, and she couldn't even use it properly; she couldn't go anywhere. Anyone who saw her would tell the real Victoire what she had done, and then she'd be in real trouble. And she had promised to stay away from Teddy. That part was easy; she never wanted to see Ted Lupin again.

Victoire's nimble fingers crept carefully up her flawless thigh, stroking her skin. Dominique gasped softly as an idea came to her, a wondrous, thrilling idea. Her door was locked, her room was empty, and she was Victoire for an hour. She had Victoire for an hour.

Dominique pulled Victoire's skirt up and, hands trembling, eased her knickers down her thighs. They dropped soundlessly to the floor, and Dominique spread Victoire's gorgeous legs apart in the mirror, so she could examine the parts between them. She swept her fingers down Victoire's thighs and over her lips, gently pulling them open. It was beautiful, soft and pink as a rose. Dominique could see a glistening of juices beginning to form as she stroked the outer lips, working herself up to penetrating the insides.

She had touched herself before, of course, but that had been Dominique's body, with its dry, freckled skin and rough, tangled pubic hair. Victoire was soft everywhere, her downy hair curling more elegantly than Dominique's ever could. It was lovely, and it didn't take very long before Dominique dared to touch it, the tips of Victoire's fingers brushing over her quickly-growing clitoris. A shock of pleasure swept through her, pleasure come from Victoire, being her and touching her at once. It had meant nothing, masturbation, when it was just Dominique; it was an idle pastime, a game, a simple pleasure. This, this, this Victoire, this was something, a much bigger something. This was more than pleasure; it was more than a game, more even than the pain of being with Teddy. This was what sex was really all about.

Somewhere she felt a twinge of guilt, some tiny strand of shame and resentment for what she was doing, what she had to do. After all, Victoire was her sister, and it did seem a little strange, even to Dominique, to want her own sister so powerfully. But Victoire wasn't just any sister, and she wasn't just any woman. She was everything Dominique wished she could be, and everything she wanted to take. She was beyond such labels as "sister;" she was Victoire. Soft, pretty Victoire, her eyes wide and gleaming as she watched herself come in the mirror.

Dominique sighed and collapsed onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. She ran her hands over Victoire's body, squeezing her perfectly round breasts, larger and softer, of course, than Dominique's. It felt lovely, but now that she was out of sight of the mirror, she was painfully reminded once more of the spell she was under. She looked and felt like Victoire, but she was not Victoire. She was still Dominique on the inside, where it counted. She could touch herself as Victoire all she wanted, but it still wasn't the same as touching the real Victoire. 

If only she could really be Victoire, completely. Surely that would mean more than this façade, this magic potion. Dominique closed her eyes and squeezed Victoire harder, wincing at the pain of Victoire's fingernails cutting into Victoire's perfect skin. If she were really Victoire, would she still be held so transfixed by her? Perhaps it would make things easier, this confusing jumble of emotions that everyone seemed to hate her for. The hour was already ticking away, and what then? She'd be stupid little Dominique again, alone and without her Victoire. She was out of potion; she was out of patience. 

She decided right then that she was through waiting.

*****

"Dominique, where are you going?"

Dominique stopped with her hand on the doorknob and glared viciously at her younger brother. Louis had entered the room at precisely the wrong moment, just as she'd been about to escape her own inner torment. Little brothers had a way of doing that very thing, ruining your happiness; Dominique couldn't even count the number of times Louis had interrupted her in the middle of a good nap, adventure, or daydream. Victoire had always understood when to leave Dominique alone and when to confront her. Or at least, she'd used to.

"What do you want?" Dominique snapped, frustrated by Louis's calm silence. "Go back to sleep."

"Where are you going?" His voice remained infuriatingly curious.

"Nowhere; leave me alone." Dominique opened the door.

"Why are you and Victoire fighting?"

"Why do you care?"

Louis shrugged, and his calm demeanor slipped into something more negative; sadness, perhaps, though not quite. "I don't know; I care about you."

Dominique huffed and rolled her eyes. "You don't understand anything about Victoire and me," she said harshly. "We love each other more than anything; Victoire will come around soon."

"You never say you love me," Louis replied. 

Dominique just stared at him for a moment; he didn't move. Slowly, Dominique edged out the door, knowing she was doing the right thing and still feeling bad about it. But what did it matter how she felt about Louis? He was just Louis; Victoire was Victoire. Victoire was the goal, the everything. Louis would just have to understand.

Victoire's window was unlocked yet again, and Dominique let herself in as silently as she had done before, closing the window after her and setting her broom against the wall. Victoire was facing her, her lips slightly parted and her hair falling partially over her eyes as she slept. It took Dominique's breath away, the simple beauty of a sleeping Victoire. She had seen the image a million times before and still had never appreciated it quite as much as she did then. She bit her lip and took a deep breath to steady herself. This was it.

Victoire was incredibly warm; her body heat filled Dominique with a soothing calm. It was all going to be fine, really. Dominique pressed herself against Victoire and slipped an arm around her sister, holding Victoire tight. It was just as Victoire had used to hold Dominique when they were younger. Dominique remembered having terrible nightmares, just after their mother went away, and Victoire would always hold her sister and whisper in her ear. "You're all right, little Domi; we'll always have each other." 

"And we will always have each other," Dominique said now, sweeping Victoire's hair out of her face as she pressed her lips to Victoire's cheek. She gently caressed Victoire's face with one hand as she pulled a small vial out of her pocket with the other.

She really was getting better at potions; the Polyjuice had been incredibly difficult, and still she'd managed. And now she had this new elixir, a sleeping draught found in Victoire's copy of Advanced Potion Making. It had come out exactly as the book had described it, silver grey with faint white swirls on the surface. Dominique couldn't be completely sure she'd gotten it right, but even if it was slightly off, it couldn't hurt Victoire. The effect would probably just wear off faster, and that was okay with Dominique. Maybe if Victoire did awaken, she'd understand. Dominique just couldn't wait, that was all.

It was only one time. Once Victoire had sufficient time to forgive Dominique for what she'd done to Teddy, Dominique could work at doing things properly, at winning Victoire the right way. For now, she was just too impatient to go without Victoire for such a long time. She was just taking what was rightfully hers; surely Victoire could understand that.

Dominique slowly tipped Victoire's head back and gently eased the potion into her mouth, massaging Victoire's throat so that she could swallow properly. This was really the most frightening part, getting Victoire to drink the fluid without waking. As long as Dominique could get it all down quickly and carefully, Victoire would fall under the spell and then there would be no cause to worry. It was only one time; no one had to know.

Victoire shifted in Dominique's arms and moaned softly, her eyes fluttering briefly as she adjusted herself. She slipped one arm around Dominique's waist and nuzzled her sister's neck, causing Dominique to smile lovingly down upon Victoire. She suddenly felt much better about this whole thing; if Victoire could still love her this way, she had to be right. Dominique had to be right.

Dominique placed the sleeping Victoire back down onto her pillows and took a moment to simply look upon Victoire's beauty. She slept so quietly, so still; Dominique placed her hand upon Victoire's face and traced the shape of her profile, allowing her fingers to linger upon Victoire's soft lips. She had never kissed Victoire's mouth in reality before, only in mirrors. If the potion had worked, surely Dominique could kiss her now, and Victoire wouldn't even feel it.

Dominique held her breath as she leaned in, cupping Victoire's face in her hands. This would be the test, then. She started to close her eyes, but stopped herself, for she wanted to stare at Victoire for as long as she could. She did not know what the morning would bring; she had to take what she could. Dominique inhaled sharply and pushed herself forward, brushing her lips across Victoire's before she lost her nerve.

It was incredible. Even when Victoire did not kiss her back, it was far and away better than kissing mirrors or Teddy. Victoire's mouth was the softest and sweetest thing Dominique had ever touched; the sensation made her light-headed with giddiness. Excitement building, she grew bolder, and kissed Victoire harder, running her hands along Victoire's warm, curvy body. Victoire's eyes fluttered, and she moaned again, but still she did not wake, and Dominique grinned; it seemed the potion had set in. It wasn't wrong, was it, to lavish affection upon a sleeping Victoire? It wasn't like she was hurting her; Dominique could never hurt Victoire.

Dominique kissed Victoire again as she slipped a hand under Victoire's nightshirt. She had seen and touched all of Victoire when she'd worn her body, and still it was different to have the real thing, just as she'd known it would be. Slowly she caressed Victoire's stomach, and eased her way up to one of Victoire's breasts. Dominique's breath caught in her throat as her fingertips grazed the center; it really did feel better when it wasn't her own body.

Dominique sat up and pulled Victoire's shirt up, revealing the creamy white skin and perfectly round breasts that lay beneath the cotton. She realized suddenly that Victoire's mouth was not the only place she couldn’t have kissed under Polyjuice. Her heart began to beat faster, and she swallowed hard. This was incredibly intense; her palms were sweating. Victoire was suddenly someone new, someone completely different. No more the idol of Dominique's childhood, no more the sweet sister, no more the ideal outer skin for a girl who desperately hated her own body. Victoire was a woman.

The skin on Victoire's chest tasted slightly of sweat. Dominique trailed kisses down Victoire's ribs and around her breasts, circling the dark pink nipples with her tongue. Her hands slipped down to grasp Victoire's hips as her lips kissed lower, down Victoire's stomach. Glancing up, Dominique saw that Victoire slept on, her arms spread out across the bed. It wasn't wrong, she reminded herself, and brought her lips back to Victoire's body.

Frilly pink knickers would have looked ridiculous on anyone but Victoire; Dominique smiled as she hooked her thumbs under the waistband and carefully pulled the silky undergarment down Victoire's thighs. She wasn't exactly surprised by what she saw, as she had seen it when she'd been Victoire, but still Dominique's face flushed and her breath caught, as now Victoire was real and separate and somehow more beautiful. Dominique placed her hands on Victoire's knees and spread Victoire's slender legs.

It was just this once, and only for a moment; Dominique promised herself, promised Victoire, that she would only take a little taste, just one quick kiss. She would only take one, and then she would leave Victoire alone until Victoire was ready to accept her. Victoire couldn't ask for more than that; no one could ask for a more loving and devoted sister.

Dominique licked her lips and hesitantly leaned towards Victoire's body, that lovely place which defined Victoire as a woman. Nothing Teddy had could possibly compare; Dominique suddenly found herself wondering if Teddy could change that part of himself, too. She almost laughed at the silliness of the idea, but then she wondered if Victoire had ever asked him to do that for her. Would she have liked such a thing? Dominique couldn't see how she would prefer what he'd been born with, but then again, everyone else seemed to. Her fellow Hufflepuff girls were constantly talking about boys, wanting to be with them. It had never made sense to Dominique, even before she'd realized how much she wanted to be with Victoire in that way. Could Victoire ever feel the same? She would have to, once she realized how much Dominique loved her and needed her. Dominique nodded emphatically and held Victoire's legs tighter as she went in for her one kiss.

Victoire was dry but warm; she tasted slightly sweet, though not in any way Dominique had ever experienced before. She kept her lips upon Victoire and darted her tongue out, swirling it around the soft folds of skin. An odd feeling swept through her, centering in her own nether regions, a sharp warmth that made her shiver. Victoire felt good.

Pulling away reluctantly, Dominique eyed the place she'd kissed, which glistened slightly in the dark. She'd promised to take only one kiss, and she was not a liar. Sliding back up the bed, Dominique kissed Victoire's sides and nestled herself under Victoire's arm, slowly allowing her hand to slip back between Victoire's thighs. She'd promised to take only one kiss, and she was not a liar, but Victoire did feel so very good. She smelled so sweet, and radiated such warmth; Dominique pressed in tighter as she explored Victoire with her fingers, kissing Victoire's neck fiercely.

She had already slipped two fingers deep into Victoire's core when Victoire started to wake. Dominique was lost in the wonder of sex, her body rocking against Victoire's side, her pelvis rubbing desperately against Victoire's hip. She was so caught up that she didn't notice in time, she didn't realize what had happened until Victoire stiffened sharply in Dominique's grasp, until Victoire gasped loudly in Dominique's ear. Dominique froze with her fingers still inside, puffing panicked air against Victoire's neck. "Victoire?" Dominique's voice was very quiet.

Victoire swallowed. "What are you doing?" She sounded confused.

Dominique's stomach twisted rather painfully. "I love you," she said, her voice still husky with arousal, even as her nerves screamed at her to flee.

Victoire squirmed in Dominique's arms, whimpering in a weak, frightened sort of way. "It hurts," she said pitifully, pushing at Dominique's hands. She seemed to be still halfway sleeping; her eyes fluttered and she spoke slowly. "What are you doing?" The panic kept rising.

"Shhh," Dominique said, placing one hand upon Victoire's mouth; her other hand slid slowly out of Victoire's sex, gripping Victoire's thigh. "It's okay."

"No, no," said Victoire, struggling more as she slowly came out of the trance. "Domi, what are you doing?"

"It's okay," Dominique said again, clutching Victoire tighter. She didn't know what to do; Victoire was scaring her.

"Stop it," Victoire said loudly, pushing at Dominique, her eyes widening. "My clothes; what have you done? What have you done to me?" She sounded crazed.

"Calm down," Dominique said firmly; her fear was beginning to fade, being slowly replaced by anger. "I love you, Victoire; I would never hurt you."

"Dominique," said Victoire, as though seeing her sister for the first time. "I'm naked. I'm, I'm," she hesitated, glancing down at herself briefly. "I'm sore. You've touched me."

"Stop it, Victoire," Dominique replied. "I love you."

Victoire made a strangled sound at the back of her throat and pushed harder. Dominique threw her arms tightly around Victoire and pulled as hard as she could, desperate not to lose contact with her sister. "Stop, stop, stop," Victoire chanted, pushing and thrashing, struggling to free herself. "Let me go; let me go!" 

Dominique couldn't stand the sound of Victoire's terror, the crazed look of fear in Victoire's eyes. It wasn't at all as she'd imagined Victoire would react to Dominique's passion. She had considered that Victoire might be angry with her, and that was upsetting, but still Dominique would have greatly preferred that to this, this utter panic. It was only filling Dominique with more fear and anger; she hated that Victoire could treat her this way, as though she were some kind of monster. She hated it, and she wanted it to stop, because Victoire was starting to scream louder and louder, and what if Dad or Louis should hear and come in? Dominique would really be in trouble then, and all just for loving her Victoire. It wasn't fair, and she had to end it. 

"Be quiet," she begged, shaking Victoire hard, gripping Victoire's slender arms and wrapping her legs around Victoire's. "Just be quiet, please, it's all right, it's all right!" Dominique slammed Victoire's head into the headboard; it made a terrible noise, and Victoire cried out in pain. Dominique hardly knew what she was doing; Victoire was crying and pushing and it was just tearing Dominique in two. She had to make it stop, and she didn't care, she just had to make it stop, and so she did it again, she slammed Victoire into the headboard. Victoire whimpered and cried and shook, and Dominique hated it, she hated Victoire for what she had done to her. But no, of course she could never hate her Victoire; Victoire was perfect. Still, she cried, and Dominique pinned Victoire's body beneath her and pushed her against the wooden headboard three or four or even more times, more and more without counting, without thinking of anything but making Victoire quiet. If she would just be quiet, everything would be okay. And then, all of a sudden, she snapped out of it, realizing that Victoire had long fallen still, and gone silent.

"Oh," Dominique breathed, nauseous, for she had never meant to hurt Victoire; she could never hurt her Victoire. Still, somehow, Victoire was silent, and there was blood on her pillow. Dominique lifted her sister, who lay limp in her arms, and ran her hand along the back of Victoire's head. Her fingers came back wet and sticky, and Dominique tasted them. Victoire's blood tasted just like hers; it was the only thing they had in common.

Tears stung Dominique's eyes as she knelt over Victoire's silent body, as she kissed Victoire's slack mouth as sweetly as she could manage. "Victoire," she said, choking on the name, "wake up. Victoire, I'm sorry; please, wake up."

Victoire really was beautiful when she slept; even now Dominique could feel her body humming as she kissed Victoire. She couldn't be truly hurt, not Victoire; people bled all the time without being seriously hurt. It wasn't as though Dominique had been purposefully trying to hurt Victoire, and so she just had to be fine. She was only stunned, that was all, and she would sleep it off perfectly and be fine in the morning. Dominique kissed Victoire harder and ignored entirely the lack of breath coming from Victoire's nose and mouth. People breathed less when they slept; that had to be it.

Dominique sobbed as she hugged her sister, kissed her fiercely, and rocked her body against Victoire as she fought her warring emotions. She'd hurt and upset Victoire; she should feel guilty, she should leave. But Victoire was lovely, and she was just lying there, sleeping and taunting Dominique with her perfection. She had come to love Victoire, to make love to her as she slept, despite the fact that she knew it was wrong. And now Victoire was hurt, but still Dominique pressed herself to Victoire's body and rubbed, almost without thinking, grinding hard against Victoire's soft thighs.

She cried all through her orgasm, pushing Victoire deep into the sheets. She was a monster, after all, and Victoire had been right all along to leave her. Dominique deserved it; she was a freak and she'd hurt her Victoire. She cried, and gripped Victoire's arms, burying her face into Victoire's chest. Victoire's incredibly still chest.

There was blood smeared all across the bed now, and Dominique's own heart stopped as she realized that she couldn't feel anything in Victoire's chest. No rising and falling of breath, no heartbeat. But Victoire had to be okay; Dominique had barely touched her, hadn't she? There was no way she could have hurt Victoire.

Time seemed to stop, and Dominique had no idea just how long she lay there on top of the very-not-sleeping Victoire, crying and pulling desperately at Victoire's beautiful blonde hair. It seemed forever, and yet it couldn't possibly have taken them that long to hear Victoire's screams, to come up the stairs and burst into the attic, where they froze in horror at the sight of Dominique crying over Victoire's still body.

"Dominique," said Louis, breaking the spell. Dominique opened her eyes, saw what she'd done to her Victoire, and she retched, vomiting over the bloodstained sheets. Still, still, she clung to Victoire, even as her father and brother reached for her, pulled her from Victoire's side. Still, as they shuddered, as they dragged her slowly from the room, Dominique screamed and cried and reached, reached for victory – for Victoire.

"Victoire, wake up! Victoire! Victoire!"

*****

Louis stood awkwardly at the side of the bed, trying to look at Dominique but not quite able, his gaze instead settling somewhere just to the left of his sister, towards the window. "Hi, Dominique," he said quietly, and held out a card and several pieces of parchment. "I brought you some schoolwork, if you're bored. And your friends made you a card. A Get Well card, I guess." He cleared his throat.

Dominique pursed her lips and looked pointedly away, even as Louis set the papers down beside her and turned to go. She did not say a word, not as Louis took several steps away, not when he stopped and turned back to look at her. "I forgive you," he said slowly, and Dominique swallowed hard to avoid crying. "I think she'd forgive you, too."

He was gone, and Dominique sank into the pillows, shutting her eyes tight to block out the lights. It was always so bright here, and the walls were much too white. The Healers gave her looks of such pity, and Dad never came to visit. And, of course, there was no Victoire, not anymore, not in this world. The loss cut Dominique like a knife every second, made all the worse by the fact that it had all been her fault.

She would slice herself open that very moment if she only had a knife or a wand to do it. Instead, all Dominique could do was sleep, where she could at least hope for dreams of victory – of Victoire.

She was still so beautiful when she slept.


End file.
